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I nodded. “And in older facilities, where things are already working so well, it’s a hard task to conquer, but I’m determined to find ways while saving us money at the same time.”
“You know, I wouldn’t hate it if you made room for us at the Beverly Hills location, which I believe is your oldest resort, so I’m assuming that’ll be one of your projects.” Walker’s grip strengthened. “If you can make that happen, there could be a nice little bonus coming your way.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d been offered money. Other vendors in different avenues—from bedding to cutlery to beverage brands—had done the same.
I didn’t need their money, nor did I want it.
I had plenty of my own.
And no amount would persuade me to do a business deal that wasn’t right for the Spades—our company meant far too much to me for that.
I smiled at my friend. “If a spot becomes available—and that’s a smallif—you’ll have the same shot as all the other restaurateurs we do business with. But what I can say is, if that happens, you’d better prepare one hell of a pitch. Everyone wants Beverly Hills. My team is going to want to see why we should pick you.”
“Nicely done.” Eden clapped. “That just made me respect you more.”
I winked at her. “Now, if you had offered a 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO, my answer could have been different.”
“The one that recently sold for over forty-eight mil?” Hart bellowed.
“That’s the one,” I confirmed.
“I call bullshit,” Beck countered. “Like me, you’re a man who enjoys buying his own toys.” He paused. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
I nodded again. “You are correct.”
“So, you’re saying a few mil on a check made out directly to you won’t do the trick?” Hart pushed.
I smiled at the whole group. “Not even if you add another zero—or two.”
* * *
The second I wrapped up dinner with the Westons, I drove to the club, parking the Range Rover in the last available slot, and headed for the entrance. I hadn’t told them I was going out; I’d told them I was going to bed instead. The last thing I wanted, in case Brooklyn was here, was to entertain a group of five and not be able to speak to her.
It had been four long, fucking miserable nights since I’d seen her.
Since she’d been at the club.
Since my hands had touched her body.
I hated that Camden was right, that I was stalking this place, but I had no choice. I refused to give up, and coming here was the only place I knew to look for her.
Because I frequented so often, I’d gotten to know the bouncers who worked the door. Instead of waiting in the long line that wrapped around the entire building, I walked straight up to the front and shook the bouncer’s hand with a hundred-dollar bill tucked into my palm, and after the money was in his possession, I went right inside.
Within a few seconds, my body began to pound, my hands were sweating, and my eyes darted around the interior like I was watching a fucking tennis match.
She was here.
I didn’t know because I’d spotted her that quickly—there were too many people, and the entire dance floor was packed; I knew because the air was different when Brooklyn was present.
I studied each of the stages until my eyes fell upon her.
Fuck me.
She was along the edge of the room, near the section where I’d seen her from the VIP area the first night I was here, wearing the same skintight black dress. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back like a goddamn waterfall. Her hips swayed as if she were in a boat in high chop. And even from all the way over here, with my zoomed-out view of her face and body and much too far away to get a whiff of her smell, my dick was already so fucking hard.
Not a single woman in this club could compare.
Not in the way they looked or danced.
